


just got diagnosed with cool guy syndrome

by ScreechTheMighty



Series: We Could Be Immortals [12]
Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: (but while we're here octane also has adhd and natalie is autistic bye), ADHD Headcanons, Because I said so that's why, Gen, Mirage has ADHD, Rated for swearing, There's some mild Miraith but it's not the focus so I didn't tag for it, but the fic is focused on mirage, no beta reader we die like men, other tagged characters are POV characters, wrote this instead of sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21644179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScreechTheMighty/pseuds/ScreechTheMighty
Summary: "I also do not want to be doing what I'm doing." -Elliott Witt, probably. (AKA an extended headcanon about how Elliott has ADHD because I said so, that's why.)
Series: We Could Be Immortals [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1436959
Comments: 12
Kudos: 47





	just got diagnosed with cool guy syndrome

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, I wrote this fic by taking [totallyadd's "Do I Have ADD?" quiz](https://totallyadd.com/do-i-have-add/) and answering it with my Mirage headcanons, then using the results as prompts. I need to take it with my Octane headcanons sometime. He's probably either combined type or primarily hyperactive type, LBR here.
> 
> Also, is this a vent fic? Am I projecting a little? Entirely likely. Hope you enjoy it regardless!

**I have poor attention to detail.**

_I often make small mistakes. I skim read. I rush things. I mess up dates, get details wrong, or make simple errors because I’m not paying attention._

“Okay, but did anyone feel like the ammo drop that last match was a bit low?” Elliott stopped to take a drink. It wasn’t a very _long_ drink, and he was right back to rambling within seconds of the bottle leaving his lips. “I mean, it could’ve just been me, but I didn’t find anything higher than a blue-level item the entire time. Honestly thought I was gonna die at a few points…”

“That’s part of the rules for the new game mode,” Wraith said.

Elliott froze. The confusion was clear in his eyes—confusion, and a tiny bit of panic. “Wh-no, it wasn’t.”

“Yeah, it was,” Bangalore chimed in. Elliott started _chugging_ from his water bottle, as if that could somehow save him from the awkwardness of the situation. “What, did you not read the rule book? Rookie mistake.”

“Wh- _no_ , I read it!” It was impossible to miss the way his voice went scratchy with indignation, and a very transparent indignation at that. He was definitely trying to cover for his panic, and likely a healthy dose of embarrassment. “I did! I just…didn’t see it.”

“It was in plain text, solider.” Bangalore smirked and went back to reading something from her tablet. “Might want to actually read the briefing next time. Don’t want to end up with a bullet in your head because you were too lazy.”

“ _I read the fucking_ \- !” His voice cracked. He must have heard it, because Elliott quickly shut up. His face had gone red; he didn’t even bother trying to hide it as he stalked out of the common area.

The thing was, Wraith knew he had read the game mode’s rule book. She’d been in the same room as he did it. She remembered him finishing up first—maybe he’d only skimmed it? That seemed like a stupid mistake to make when your life was on the line. Everyone knew it was a good idea to read the rule book thoroughly.

She thought about asking him about it. But the next time she saw him, he was still sullen, quit, still nursing a wounded ego. So she kept her concerns to herself, for now.

**I am a poor listener.**

_I often tune out during long conversations. I may appear to be listening but my mind wanders and I miss what’s being said. Sometimes, I even lose track of what I’m saying, or go off on tangents._

“…hey, Nat?”

Elliott sounded hesitant. Natalie turned around to face him. “Yes? Is something wrong?”

“Oh, no, nothing’s wrong, it’s just that, uhm…” His face was going red as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Did they talk about the new rules for the ranking system like, halfway through the meeting? Because I was taking notes, but I uh, I kinda zoned out…”

Natalie started going through her own notes before Elliott had even finished. The two of them were the only ones who took notes. It helped her to go over everything again in quiet and it helped Elliott not to forget. She sometimes thought that Octavio could stand to take notes, but he always seemed to skate by even when he forgot things or was only partially paying attention. “Here you go.” She showed him that section of her notes. “They didn’t talk about it for very long. It was a small change.”

“ _Thank_ you, seriously.” Elliott started furiously copying her notes. “I don’t know what happened. I just zoned out.”

“Did you sleep enough?”

“Yeah, I slept great, I just…” He looked at his notes and grimaced. “I…guess I had an idea for how to improve the suit, and I was…”

Natalie glanced down at his notes. Sure enough, he’d started drawing a blueprint in the corner.

“…yeah…”

Natalie nodded sympathetically. “It’s okay. If you ever miss anything, you can ask me.”

Elliott looked less embarrassed. “Hey, thanks. Same to you. I mean…if you can read my handwriting.”

She couldn’t, but she decided to keep that to herself. He was already embarrassed. It would be mean to make that worse.

**I don’t follow instructions well.**

_I prefer to jump right in, rather than read the instructions, guides, or recipes. I struggle to stick to routines, schedules, or plans. I know what to do, I just don’t seem to do it._

There were certain drinks that you could only get when Elliott was working.

Most of them were twists on regular drinks. The common assumption was that Elliott liked to experiment with established mix drinks and that the drinks, which were generally well-received, were the result of that. The reality was that they were the result of Elliott assuming that he knew how a drink was made and ending up with something similar, but just different enough to technically qualify as another drink.

He knew how to make the real drinks after a few years of working there. But he also made the variant drinks on request. So far, everyone seemed to like them, so he didn’t admit to their conception being the result of him not reading the drink card.

No sense making himself look like an idiot when everyone thought he was just creative.

**I feel disorganized.**

_I have trouble organizing my work or home life. My To-Do lists feel overwhelming. I often procrastinate, unsure where to start, or what I need._

Anita usually minded her own business, or she tried to. It could be hard when they were spending time in close quarters on the drop ship, and even harder when she saw some of the nonsense the others would get up to.

Example: watching Elliott dump the entire contents of his backpack onto his bed.

It was less the fact that he was just dumping his shit onto the bed—she’d seen worse, and it wasn’t like he had live explosives in there. It was more the sheer amount of _stuff_ that ended up there, with no rhyme or reason. Stuff that was definitely should have been in another pouch, or that shouldn’t have been stored together, clothes not fully folded. It wasn’t that he had a different organization system than her; even if she didn’t _agree_ with the organization system, she could live with that. To each his own. But there was _no_ kind of organization. It looked like he crammed things in there without rhyme or reason.

She hadn’t fought with Mirage often—he typically stuck to his own group, but sometimes he’d do randoms for a bit of extra money and fame. She had a fairly vivid memory from one time they fought together of him scrambling for an extended light mag for half a minute. He’d been perfectly competent and workable before then. It had been baffling.

It made a lot more sense now.

“You ever thought about organizing that shit?” she called over to him.

Elliott looked up at her and glared. “What does it look like I’m doing?” he called back.

“Looks like you’re making a mess.”

“Hey, gotta crack a few eggs…”

That wasn’t cracking a few eggs, from where she was standing. That was dumping the whole carton onto the floor.

She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t, not for a solid minute. It was like watching a slow-motion train wreck. But, eventually, she had to turn back to her tablet. Watching him sort things in fits and starts, constantly re-starting and then staring at the piles of junk as if he didn’t know what the next step should be was causing her physical pain. Her first instinct was to go over and help him, but she knew that would just piss him off. So she kept her thoughts to herself.

 _Still_ , she wondered, _how the fuck does he live like that?_

**I often lose things.**

_I often misplace my phone, keys, or TV remote. “I just had it a minute ago!!” I lose important paperwork. My home or work space is cluttered, piles everywhere so I can find things, otherwise, I’ll forget them._

They were allotted storage boxes in the workshop. You could tell a lot about a person’s personality from those boxes. Caustic, Pathfinder, and Bangalore’s were very precise, almost terrifyingly so; Wattson’s was tidy, but not to the extent of being clinical, and clearly operated on its own organization system. Lifeline and Gibraltar had a fairly normal mixture of tidiness and _had to run out the door so I just tossed this in and I’ll worry about it later._ Wraith’s barely had anything in it. Bloodhound and Crypto didn’t keep a box in the workhouse. Octane didn’t have an organization system.

Neither did Elliott.

Wraith had been strangely surprised by that at first. Elliott, yes, could be a bit scatterbrained, but for someone who took his tech as seriously as he did, you’d think he would have more of an organization system for it. The longer she knew him, the more that _scatterbrained_ part of his personality shone through and made the lack of organization make sense. It would’ve been fine, if it didn’t mean that he lost things.

_Constantly_

It was kind of impressive, seeing how the work room wasn’t very big and neither was his box. You’d think it wasn’t possible, but it was. Wraith had seen it firsthand. It hit a point where she often had to help him find things that he’d misplaced.

Sometimes, she wasn’t the only set of eyes.

_it's behind the shelf._

Wraith had been watching Elliott look for a multi-tool for at least five minutes. She had tried to help, but it wasn’t in any of the obvious places, so they were both stumped. She hadn’t even thought to look behind there until one of the voices chimed in. Once she knew, it was easy to spot it. Less easy to get it; the shelf was pretty close to the wall. “It’s back here,” she called to him. “It must’ve fallen out of the box.”

“ _Thank_ you. Shit.” Elliott crouched down next to the shelf and peered behind it. “I really need to organize that box. I can’t keep losing my shit like this. Someone will walk away with something.”

He wouldn’t do it, she knew. Just like he didn’t really organize his room, shoved ammo in random pouches and forgot which pouch was which, and would stand in the center of a room staring into space for at least a minute whenever he had a task to start, as if he was trying to recall the steps or gather together where all the supplies were.

It was okay, though. She was always there to check behind the shelves.

**I am easily distracted.**

_I’m easily distracted by conversations, noises, or activity around me. I’m often lost in thought, one idea after another, imaging ideas or situations. I’m smart, but a bit absent-minded. I’m a “day-dreamer.”_

“What are you thinking about, friend?”

Elliott straightened up suddenly, looking confused. “Huh?”

“I asked you what you are thinking about. You seemed very deep in thought.”

“Oh, I’m…” Elliott shrugged. “Not…not really thinking about anything. I mean, I was thinking about…updated designs for my suit, and then I was trying to think about ways to counter whatever Crypto has going on, and then I was wondering where he got his jacket because I’ve never seen one like that before, and after that I was thinking maybe _I_ need a new coat or a layer for the outfit or something, because it gets pretty damn cold down there, and…” He laughed nervously. “Not nothing. Guess I was thinking about everything.”

Pathfinder wasn’t sure he understood that. His train of thought wasn’t as branching and random as a human’s. But if that was normal for Elliott, then he was willing to accept it. “Some parts of the map are very warm,” he pointed out. “So maybe it’s better to only dress for moderate weather.”

“Yeah. That sounds about right. I dunno, I’ll think of something.” Elliott went back to eating. “I’m smart. I can think of things.”

Pathfinder nodded in agreement. “You must be smart if you can follow your thoughts. That was a very complicated way to get to heatproofing your clothes.”

“Yeah, I just…just think like that. I guess. Honestly, I have a hard time keeping up with myself.” Elliott grinned sheepishly. “But y’know, it’s okay. We’re making it work.”

“We certainly are, friend!”

He had no reason to believe otherwise. Elliott might have been unusual for a human—people acted like he was, at any rate—but that didn’t matter.

Again, if it was normal for Elliott, he was willing to accept it. Always.

**I’m forgetful.**

_I often lose track of what I was supposed to be doing. I’m bad with dates, names, or appointments, or forget to bring something I need. I’ve bought things then realized I already own one._

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Wraith sounded genuinely surprised. That, needless to say, made Elliott nervous. If she’d just been teasing him, that’d be one thing, but that wasn’t a teasing tone. “I’m going to the weight room?” Elliott asked. “Why?”

“We have a meeting in fifteen minutes.”

Elliott froze. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah. Really.”

And that was the story of how Elliott ended up at the meeting late and in the first clothes he could find that weren’t his workout clothes.

The thing was, he’d written down when the meeting was. He knew he had, because he checked once the meeting was over. But he’d forgotten. He’d somehow _forgotten_ and gotten so wrapped up in what he thought was a fun and casual day that he nearly missed a _mandatory meeting_. Thank God Wraith had been there, otherwise he would’ve been in deep shit.

Wraith didn’t bring it up again. Thank God for that, too.

**Physically restless.**

_Fidgety. I fidget, tap my foot, doodle, or shift in my seat to help focus. I often feel restless during long meetings, classes, or church. It’s like I have a dynamo inside me._

Mirage had not stopped fidgeting the whole car ride to this press conference.

Octavio probably didn’t have a leg to stand on when it came to that; he knew he was just as fidgety, to the point where he’d 100% bothered the hell out of everyone he knew. But Mirage was starting to pester even _Octavio_ , which was a hell of a thing to accomplish. It was definitely bothering Nat, who was sitting on the same bench as him.

Calling him out on it wasn’t going to work. Plan B, then.

Octavio dug through his pockets until he found some of the fidgets he usually carried around. He picked out his least favorite one—the marble maze that he hadn’t used in so long that lint was sticking to it—patted Mirage on the shoulder, then passed it up to him. “You’re looking cagey, amigo. Here.”

Mirage looked at the marble maze, then at Octavio. The defensive look in his eyes said that he was considering _not_ doing it, but…he took it. Then he started fiddling with it as he kept rambling about whatever it was he was talking about.

It was enough to get him to stop squirming so much, so that was good. They could enjoy the ride there and back in peace. (Well, not enjoy. Fuck long car rides. But it wasn’t as bad as it had been.)

Mirage used it on the ride there, and tried to give it back once they were back at HQ. Octavio shook his head. “Nah, you keep it. I don’t really use that one anyways.”

He was a little surprised that Mirage didn’t argue, but also kind of grateful. If it kept him from making Natalie so damn nervous on the next car ride, he’d take it.

**Talkative.**

_I always have lots to say. I tell great stories, but rarely learn anything about anyone else. If someone tries to speak I may get louder because I feel pressured to get it out._

“You’re a youngest brother, aren’t you?”

Elliott stopped mid-chatter stream. Wraith had been using the conversation Elliot and Lifeline were having as background noise while she read, so to have it stop so suddenly caught her attention. When she glanced up, Elliott was staring at Bangalore with a red face and a defensive expression. “…wh-wh…what’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“You talk like a youngest brother,” Bangalore said casually. “Loud.”

Elliott’s face got redder. Wraith thought that he was going to pick a fight with Bangalore, but instead he turned back to Lifeline. _“Anywho_ ,” he said, loudly, forcefully.

The chatter resumed after that, but Wraith found kept thinking about that exchange.

The thing was, Bangalore wasn’t wrong. Elliott _was_ a youngest brother. Wraith just wasn’t sure to what extent his habit of chattering aggressively, even loudly, yammering away as if afraid the silence would make people forget he existed, was the result of him being the youngest of four, or if that was just… _him_. Just the way that Elliott communicated with the world. But maybe being the youngest did have something to do with it. She wouldn’t know. She didn’t even remember if she had siblings.

She had a feeling Elliott would bring the exchange up later. And sure enough…

“Do I talk too much?” he asked her.

She came dangerously close to giving the honest answer— _yes, sometimes you do_ —but refrained, because she knew that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “Is this about what Bangalore said?” she asked instead.

“Yeah, it’s just…” Elliott sighed and hugged his pillow closer to his chest. They’d been sitting on his bed watching a movie up until that point; Wraith was kind of impressed he’d been able to keep all of this to himself until the credits started rolling. “I don’t _mean_ to talk so much. It’s just like, once I get started, it won’t stop coming, and I can _feel_ myself annoying people, you know, but I can’t…I can’t make myself shut up. Do you ever…?” He stopped. “No, stupid question.”

“What?”

“I was going to ask if you ever felt like that, but…” He gestured towards her. “Stoic is kind of your thing, so I’m gonna guess _no_.”

He wasn’t completely wrong. But…

“I used to worry that I was annoying people because I didn’t remember how to do things,” she admitted. “And I was…paranoid a lot. I wasn’t around long enough to _really_ annoy people, but…” She did have memories of people getting frustrated with her. Wraith hadn’t just moved around to avoid being recaptured and sent back to that hospital (if that place was _really_ a hospital). Holding down a job was hard when you were anxious, depressed, and didn’t have much going for you in the memory department. “…I do get what you mean.”

“Oh.” There was a note of relief in Elliott’s voice, even as he shot her a sympathetic and concerned look. “Okay. Well, it’s…like that, constantly. I try to stop myself, I do, let other people talk, you know, but then I feel like I didn’t say everything and I just start up again. It sucks.” He paused, watching the credits. “I hate my stupid brain sometimes.”

Wraith grimaced in sympathy and leaned against him. “Yeah. I know that feeling.”

They didn’t talk about their stupid, broken brains the rest of that evening. It was enough to know that the other person understood.

**Blurting out.**

_I am full of ideas. My mind races and I have to get it out. I may seem rude and dominating, always adding my two cents, but I love to contribute my ideas. And I have lots of them._

“No one cares, Elliott.”

He’d heard that more than his fair share of times.

You’d think it would be enough to make him shut up, but it wasn’t. Every single time he had an idea or a suggestion or something to say that was even tangentially related, his stupid, idiot brain just blurted it right the hell out without consulting the logic parts of his brain first.

The parts that reminded him how _rarely_ people actually gave a shit about what he was feeling or thinking. Or that people didn’t _have_ to know every little thing he was feeling or thinking, even if they _did_ care.

Elliott was typically okay with how his brain operated. There were a lot of things he could roll with, things he could find workarounds for. As long as he remembered to write things down, swallowed his pride enough to ask Wraith or Natalie or Pathfinder or Mom for help with other things, and stuck to the few routines he’d been able to grind into his mind, he’d be fine. He’d skated into his thirties on that system. It was good. Everything was good.

But it was in those moments—those moments when he couldn’t stop the words from coming out (bonus points if the stutter came with them), and the other people in the conversation looked at him with annoyance or forced interest—that he really, truly hated his stupid, stupid brain.

The worst part was, he couldn’t even explain himself, most of the time, because trying to apologize just generated _more words_. More rambling, more stuttering, even more frustration or forced patience directed right at him. It was a lose-lose situation that he couldn’t make himself avoid, no matter how hard he tried. The gift of gab had gotten him some good things in life, and in terms of defining traits to have, it wasn’t the _worst_ thing in the world.

But sometimes— _sometimes—_ Elliott really wished he could just shut the hell up.

**Your answers suggest you may have the Predominantly Inattentive Subtype of ADHD.**

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr as screechthemighty for general blogging and respawncinematicuniverse for Titanfall/Apex blogging. Also, I should be asleep right now, but what else is new.


End file.
